


Encounter

by DancingPiratess



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt and comfort, tw abuse mention, tw depression, tw suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingPiratess/pseuds/DancingPiratess
Summary: A chance meeting between Jason Todd and Harleen Quinzel, sometime down the road, after they’ve gotten some time to deal with everything.





	Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This little one-shot was clawing to get out. A chance meeting between Jason Todd and Harleen Quinzel, sometime down the road, after they’ve gotten some time to deal with everything. 
> 
> Both characters belong to DC
> 
> TW: Abuse mention, depression, suicidal thoughts

He almost doesn't recognize her. Partially because his gaze is always fixed on the ground and the hood obscures his view, partially because she looks different.

Jason doesn’t even know what possessed him to look up. Perhaps it was the persistent scuff of heels on the ground, a noise that betrayed the true weariness she felt.

He realizes it's her because there's something familiar in her eyes. The same brokenness he sees when he looks in the mirror during a moment of weakness. A hint of recognition flashed in her eyes, mingled with something else. He thinks it’s fear but he can’t be sure. Harley Quinn never showed fear. Just rage. Harleen, on the other hand…

It would be easier to let her pass, to let her walk away. To not recognize what’s between them. She seems to be thinking somewhere along the same lines. Her head tilts away from him, her short hair falling into her face, obscuring it

"Quinn" he says. She jumps as she brushes the golden blonde tendrils out of her eyes. Her natural color suits her, Jason thinks. She would look younger, were it not for the haunted look in her eyes. She doesn’t have a mask to hide behind anymore.

"I go by Quinzel now" she whispers. He nods. He understands. His own nickname, “Jay”, has become unbearable, too. Too much of a reminder. It took him months to not jump at Dick calling him “Jaybird”. Then again, it had also taken him months to gather the courage to face his… family at all.

Her voice is lower, less whiney. She nervously adjusts her glasses, hiding behind them. A piece of her short hair flops forward, it's brushed behind her ear again. A silence falls over them for a moment.

Their last conversation went differently. With him tied to a chair, her straddling him in the least intimate way possible and taking out her rage on him. She had been screaming, he had been silent. Too dead inside to keep fighting. Even then, in his catatonic state, he had realized that she was just as much a victim as he was.

“How’ve you been… since…” Her voice breaks through his stupor. He’s glad she’s not beating around the bush. There’s no point.

He could lie. Like he does to his family. Like he does to himself. “It’s been up and down” he admits. She looks surprised at his blunt answer “What about you?” he asks, actually interested. Has she been suffering as much as he has?

She swallows nervously “He… He was my life for years… I spent another year after his death trying to avenge him. I lost myself. I thought… I could save him” she whispers. She crosses her arms, running her fingers over her blue knitted sweater anxiously.

A small part of him is tempted to reach out, to offer her comfort. He doesn’t. His hands hang by his side uselessly and limply. She looks him in the eyes steadily. Her voice is thick with tears when she speaks again “I’m living day by day”

“Me too” he answers. He tries to focus on something else besides the crushing silence that’s settling between them again. He focuses on her sweater. It's almost unnerving, seeing her wearing blue. It brings out her eyes. 

She’s still wrapping herself up protectively. Gently, he touches one of her shoulders and guides her to a nearby bench. Staring in the same direction is easier than looking at each other. They were created by the same man and each had a hand in the other’s undoing.

A shiver runs through her frame. She’s tall but she doesn’t look it anymore. She has shrunk. Without even thinking about it, he shrugs off his bulky leather jacker and wraps it around her shoulders.

She's thin, almost painfully so. Yet, she also looks much healthier. Her skin has a rosier tone to it, that the heavy white makeup had consciously concealed. It had also concealed the bruises he has inflicted on her. 

“Thanks” she says quietly, burrowing into the jacket. He can feel her gaze on him. His face is still covered by the hood, as always when he’s in public. “You don’t have to hide from me. You can, if it makes you feel more comfortable, but it doesn’t bother me”

Reluctantly, he pushes back the hood, resisting the urge to hide for once. She looks almost pleased that she managed to coax him out of his shell. Her fingertips automatically reach out to touch out his left cheek but stop at a safe distance before he can flinch.

“May I?” she asks cautiously. She’s good at respecting his boundaries. Gritting his teeth, he nods. Gently, she cups his face with her right hand, meeting his gaze. Impossibly softly, her thumb traces the “J” charred into his skin.

“He was a monster” she states, dropping her hand suddenly, without warning. He almost missed her touch. The touch of someone who accepts his appearance for what it is. It’s something even he himself hasn’t quite come to terms with yet.

“My turn” she says unceremoniously, pulling up her sweater. His eyes roam over what’s left of her tattoo. It’s been violently defaced. “I couldn’t bear looking at it anymore” she says, reading his reaction.

His face is still. Other people would’ve called her crazy. But he knows what it feels like. When Joker is under his skin, his manic laughter in his head. God knows he’s been tempted to end it once and for all before.

“I’m glad he’s dead” he says.

“Me too” she answers.

“Right after he died…” she starts hesitantly “I thought I was pregnant with his child. The test turned out to be a false positive. I was so beside myself with grief. I mean, I almost killed Batman… again” She’s rambling. She’s never had an outlet before.

“I just keep thinking about it. If I had actually been pregnant. Would I think of my own child as an abomination?”

“If you ask yourself questions like that, you’ll just make yourself unhappy. Trust me, Harleen”

“You’re right” she seems to deflate a little. She looks tiny.

He feels pressure on his hand, she had wrapped her long elegant fingers around his, desperately searching for an anchor. “Sometimes being alive really sucks”

She has said it so adequately that he can’t think of anything else to add. Instead, he takes a leap of faith.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” It’s the start of something. An uneasy friendship, maybe. They step forward together. Onwards.


End file.
